I often think of Albus
by ThinkingSpeck
Summary: [ONESHOT] Grindelwald POV, looking back on his summer in Godric's Hollow.


**A/N:** Story prompt pinched from Fire The Canon's Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition - S2R13 if you're curious. My thanks to Fire The Canon, and my apologies that I wasn't able to commit more to that competition.

 **A/N 2:** Right now I'm working on regaining my ability to write freely - I feel that the final stages of Harry's Loophole made me tighten up in fear of making mistakes. Once I've got my head right again, I'll get back to long-form. Current plan is to write one or two more long-form fanfics before switching to originalfic.

 **A/N 3:** As usual, my thanks to Animekitty47 for her sterling work as beta reader. Actually I'm now asking her for help with planning and plot stuff also - kinda need to figure out a suitable term for that role. Either way, she's great.

* * *

 **I often think of Albus**

I often think of Albus. In my mind's eye he is always that same over-tensioned youth I first knew – all blazing intellect and unearthly beauty, but forever trapped by those damned responsibilities he never did learn to refuse. A tragic waste if you ask me, but of course no one ever does. They venerate a dried-out husk of the man he could have been, and I meditate year upon year. Such is the world we live in.

I loved him from the moment I first saw him, of course, and yet I loved his intellect far above his physical form. I could sense the power in him even then, and even at first glance I could guess at the mind behind those pale blue eyes. This was a mind to tear apart the very fabric of reality, to expose the deepest secrets of the universe by sheer force of intellect. And power. Sweet Merlin, the power. I was in love.

The rest of Godric's Hollow was background, to be perfectly honest. I was aware of my aunt, whose house I shared, but otherwise the people and places just blurred into sameness beside my Albus. Even Aberforth, exceptional in any other company, paled in comparison to his magnificent brother.

I was spending the summer with my aunt, to broaden my cultural horizons or some such nonsense. I mean, I suppose it did have that effect, but certainly not in the way that my poor blinkered parents intended. Oh the horror, had they known the truth of my time with dear Albus.

I met him at a garden party hosted by my aunt. He came with his brother, one of the few times I ever saw them together. Aberforth's power shone like the moon, but Albus outshone the blazing midday sun overhead. Sweet Merlin, the power. Then he saw me, and on my oath I saw his aura flicker. He was courteous and charming to all, never rushed or abrupt, and yet it seemed to take him no time at all to reach me across the crowded garden.

"Gellert, ja?"

I had no particular interest in speaking German right now, but I did note that his pronunciation was flawless - not so common, even among the intellectuals in Britain.  
"Gellert, yes. I don't believe we've had the pleasure?"

He smiled, the burdens of his life seeming to lift for a moment.  
"Albus. It's a pleasure to meet you. Truly a pleasure."

Was he _blushing?_ Yes. Albus Dumbledore, even then the brightest wand in Britain, was shy around me. I struggled manfully to suppress my own, answering blush.  
"I hear you've an interest in magic, beyond merely reciting dead men's words at school."

He nodded eagerly, awkwardness forgotten in the heady rush of scholarship.  
"Oh yes, absolutely! There's just so much to discover – it's as if all those who came before me simply lacked the curiosity to even wonder. Well, almost all. We do know some things – they have to teach us something, after all. But Gellert, there are such vast untouched fields of inquiry, lying even within the grasp of such a young man as myself. What excuse have they, they that are old, to have let such fields lie fallow all these years? I feel I've an obligation, for surely none besides me will take up the burden."

Burdens again, always burdens. But at least this one was interesting. I grinned.  
"I'll help."

The garden around us ceased to exist, or might as well have done. We passed hours merely establishing where our shared inquiries should range. And in truth we passed those same hours simply reveling in each other's company. I had sought my whole life for a true peer, and I suspected that the same was true of Albus. At Durmstrang I had classmates, witless fools almost to a man. Professors, more knowledgeable than the students, but still damnably incurious. And Albus told much the same stories of Hogwarts, of course – in him I had discovered the unparalleled joy of one worthwhile mind besides my own, but it were sheer folly to have hoped for more than one.

* * *

From that day we were inseparable. We both felt the press of the limit on our time together, for of course I must return to Germany scant months hence. We became quite possessive of our time together, unwilling that others should distract us from our shared pursuits. Or from each other.

And so we took to disappearing. It became a game to us, weaving layer upon layer of charms to hide us from the world in new and different ways. We could sit in the middle of the village green, talking and laughing so loudly as we wished, and life would carry on unaware around us.

Inevitably we found disagreement on matters of importance, but we were tolerant young men – we argued them with good humour. Albus persuaded me that blood was not destiny, even as I taught him that magical and intellectual power (is there even a difference?) marks some of us for leadership over the rest. He never was particularly happy with that, which I suspect is why he chose such an indirect way to rule Magical Britain. And I, of course... Well, more on that later.

We performed a great deal of wandwork in those few months: experimental charms, demonstrations both specific and philosophical, mock-duels, and of course the practical spells for a comfortable life. We were well aware of that old tremble-kneed Statute, according to which we ought not perform magic in a half-Muggle village, but we considered that the Moronistry (as we called them) had no means of enforcing it on us. In this we were proved correct – even at ages 16 and 17, we were far beyond the power of any government to curtail us. Their later powers might perhaps have afforded us something of a challenge, but as it was they failed even to register as an annoyance.

You may wonder, dear hypothetical reader: what of the romance? Oh, it was there. Through all that we shared in those few short months, the romance never left us. We were only somewhat tardy in acknowledging our feelings for one another; we waited perhaps two weeks from first meeting to first kiss, and by that time we knew each other quite well.

But here, gentle reader, I must make one thing clear.  
Albus Dumbledore was the great love of my life. Indeed I did give myself to him, all that I had to give. But the details of the flesh were always secondary to the passions of the mind. If I may be so crass: it was not his _Schlange_ that I most craved, but his _Schläue_. Always.

Knowing what you doubtless already knew, about me and about Albus, you might well expect a falling-out between us before the summer's end. Not so, gentle reader, not so. In truth we parted on excellent terms, sharing a profoundly melancholic parting in the privacy of a dozen layered shields. I had no choice but to return to my native Germany, and even then poor Albus was shackled to his responsibilities back in England. Thus we parted, with foolhardy promises to reunite before long.

Not so, alas.

* * *

Where Albus and I had debated political philosophy, fierce debates between equals, back home I could find no worthwhile intellect to challenge my own. In truth I found no such intellect even among my allies. I had grown into my mind, one might say, and now found myself surrounded by relative imbeciles. Thus, although I can and do lament the lack of Albus' counsel in those years, I must nevertheless bear full responsibility for the path I chose. As with my own ally Adolf and later likewise the self-styled Lord Voldemort, I found existing bigotries to be entirely too convenient as levers of control.

I would have it known, that I do regret... Well, certainly I regret the consequences of the path I trod. Tens of thousands dead, and naught but horror to show for it. Yes, I mourn that loss. And millions dead on the Muggle side, though even now I must confess myself markedly less haunted by those. But the extinction of so much magical potential! Indeed, I would gladly unmake that war.

And here of course is the cruellest irony: seeking to strengthen our world, instead I destroyed its best and brightest. And more, it is quite clear now that the best and brightest are often not purebloods at all. Lily Evans was proof enough of that, even before she married the Potter lad and defeated Voldemort.

On this at least I am of one accord, both with the Albus of my youth and with today's old man weighed down by titles and responsibilities. Blood itself counts for a great deal, being intimately bound up in magic, but heritage per se accounts for precious little. One need only glance at the inbred maladroits infesting high society these days, to see just what scant assurance a spotless pedigree provides. If we are to seek and nurture greatness, as I believe we should, then of course we must be willing to accept it wherever we may happen to find it.

* * *

There is one more matter I feel I should address in closing, for I feel most passionately that in this particular my old friend and lover is providing a poor example. That is, he has sacrificed his passions on the altar of necessity. I've no doubt but that he views our dalliance as a youthful error on his part, and by now I am firmly convinced that he has entirely forsaken the life of the flesh. It is for this reason that I call him a dried-out husk of the man he could have been, ought to have been, ought to be.

Ultimately we are creatures of passion – as Hume said, reason is and ought to be a mere servant to passion. Even my youthful self, unalloyed intellectual arrogance given form, understood that. And yet Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, unquestionably the greatest wizard of his era, will not allow himself to understand it.

In truth, I find I rather enjoy my forced insulation from that world.


End file.
